


why do i need to give snuggles a title they're SNUGGLES

by elliptical



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Sleep talking, this is legit nothing but nauseating cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/pseuds/elliptical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave talks in his sleep<br/>Karkat snuggles him<br/>SNUGGLESSSSS</p>
            </blockquote>





	why do i need to give snuggles a title they're SNUGGLES

**Author's Note:**

> GOD I FUCKING LOVE SNUGGLES  
> I'M MEETING MY MATESPRIT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS I'M IN A FUCKIN SNUGGLY-ASS MOOD  
> based off this headcanon: http://sicklikewinter.tumblr.com/post/26888521382

“…fuckin’ Karkat…”

Dave is mumbling beside you, voice slurred so you can barely make out the words. Half the time when he sleep talks, it’s all complete nonsense, just as jumbled up as his dreams. You’re still not used to sleeping in a human bed or basically anything to do with human culture, and you’re definitely not used to being with Dave fucking Strider, because that is a thing you thought wouldn’t happen in a million years. Even under pain of torture by having each of your fingernails slowly torn out while you were submerged up to your bone bulge in acid, you thought, you would never give the asshole the time of day.

Even after all this time you still can’t sleep, can’t let your limbs unwind and relax enough to carry you away. You’re tense and hyper-vigilant and waiting for something to go wrong because shit always falls apart on your watch, it’s becoming a staple of life that you’re used to. You do all these absolutely fucking ridiculous relaxation techniques, but there’s too much lodged in your think pan and it won’t all just fucking shut off.

Dave falls asleep easily, almost at will – he’s tired, he closes his eyes and he’s out in two minutes. It’s a quality you’re insanely jealous of, not that you’d ever let him know. He looks softer whenever he’s not awake, his hair catching the dim light and shining almost silver, long eyelashes casting shadows down his cheeks. More vulnerable, awakening really fucking stupid protective instincts.

You’ve only had to put the protective instincts to use once, though, when his sleep talking turned from his usual bullshit into a panicked, “Bro – Bro?” and his brow furrowed and his fingers twisted up in the sheets. You woke him up and held him against you and he mumbled something about, “Jesus, Vantas, can’t let me catch a wink of rest without getting all wrapped around me like a barnacle,” and you told him to shut the fuck up and close his eyes.

“…doesn’t fuckin’ know how cute he is when he smiles, take a fuckin’ picture, it’ll last longer…”

He rolls over, slinging his leg over your thigh. One thing Dave does not do is sleep quietly. He can pretend to be as stealthy as he wants while he’s conscious, but once he’s dreaming all bets are off for how much he’ll wriggle around be a pain in the ass. You manage to disentangle yourself, sitting up and watching him.

“…Jesus shit, freaked the piss outta me when we were strifing, dude can hold his own, wreck all the shit, thought I’d have to run for cover…”

You can’t help smiling, brushing his hair off of his forehead. He’s normally more guarded than you are, defensive and throwing out insults with almost as much vigor as you and being a jerk. Sometimes he goes too far and says things that hurt, things about your incompetence or whatever the fuck else, but once he realizes that he’s being a horrible shitstained excuse for a person, he’ll add cutesy shit to distract you. You guess it’s his way of apologizing. Or just his way of getting you to let him off the hook, which is way more probable and also highly effective.

“…love you…”

For a second, you think he’s woken up, but then you realize his eyes are still closed. He’s smiling. A jolt of emotion races up and down your spine, so strong it’s almost painful, twisting in your gut. You don’t know how to deal with his softer side, you don’t see it often enough in person. But it brings you a strange sense of peace. He’s infuriating in every way possible and your feelings seem to frustrate you more often than they feel good, but somebody kick you in the stomach and saw off your horns if you don’t fucking love him too.

“…don’t leave me…”

Oh.

You lie back down beside him, finding his hand under the covers and twining your fingers through his. He has a bunch of quiet hangups about a lot of different issues, especially his dead man-brother-lusus. He gets worried sick just like you even if he won’t show it, scared of being alone or failing or screwing up. And it’s not like you’re any stranger to failure.

“I’m not going to leave you, you insufferable and utterly hopeless imbecile,” you say, quietly for once, making sure not to wake him up. His fingers just barely squeeze yours, or maybe that was your imagination. You kiss his cheek and then rest your head on the pillows, listening as his murmuring turns back to the usual nonsense.  
When you wake up the next day with a note taped to your forehead (“youve been napping for sixteen hours i gotta get up i do not have the patience to snuggle with your unconscious ass no matter how romantic you think it is promise i didnt put a ‘kick me’ sign on your back see you when you enter the land of the living again bro”), you think maybe that was all you needed to finally get some real rest.


End file.
